Chapter 15
MYLES
The night Duke died is a blur.
I block it out as much as I can. When I think of Duke, I like to remember the day I brought him home. His paws were tiny, scurrying across our floor, and he thought he was much bigger than his bark. It was more of a high-pitched yelp.
From day one he snuggled up at the corner of my bed and followed me everywhere I went. Sometimes I wish he hadn’t because he followed me that awful night too.
Emma had knocked on my window late that night and insisted I follow her. Her hair was drenched from the rain, and it stuck to her face.
“Come inside,” I said, offering a hand.
She shook her head with a smile. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”
I glanced behind her. The trees blew in the wind and chills ran up my arms from the cold air coming through the open window.
“I don’t think I should.” I shouldn’t have. I should’ve stayed in my warm room, tucked in my bed, and gone to sleep.
But she took my hand, pulling me closer. “Please.”
I looked into her pleading eyes and I couldn’t tell her no. I slipped on my shoes and climbed out my window in my fleece pajama pants and white T-shirt. I was soaked within seconds.
She was unusually hyper, jumping up and down as she walked.
I could tell she was upset because that’s always what she did when something bothered her.
She’d mask it instead of letting herself feel her emotions, and sometimes her energy was so infectious I’d go along with the distractions she came up with.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“There’s something I want to do,” she said, forcing a smile. “Come with me.”
She ran off toward her house, and I chased after her.
She spun around once she was in her driveway, showed me the keys to her dad’s car, and begged me to drive it with her.
I couldn’t. I knew it wasn’t a good idea. As much as I wanted to make Emma happy, I wanted her safe more.
She didn’t care. She got in the car and the rest was history. I don’t like to think about it, but I can’t forget it.
Duke saw me upset and ran toward me only to be hit when Emma drove forward. His body bounced off the car and onto the pavement.
My body switched to autopilot. I scooped him up in my arms and held him close like he was still the puppy I brought home years ago. I was numb and angry.
Why couldn’t Emma listen this one time?
She did nothing but stare at us when she got out of the car. Her face was blank, emotionless. Why wasn’t she falling apart like me?
Mom and I took him to an emergency vet, but there was nothing they could do. He was barely breathing, and I had to say goodbye.
My heart swelled up, aching from the gap I felt. When I went back home, I tried to sleep, but I kept staring at the empty space at the end of my bed where he belonged.
The whole time I waited for Emma to call or text. I thought she’d bang down my door and apologize because I knew how much she loved Duke, but she never came. There was no knock on my window.
I waited, and waited. I waited until my eyes closed.
I stayed home from school the next day and watched her house from my window. Where was she? Didn’t she know how badly I needed her?
I hated what she did, but I didn’t hate her. All I wanted was for her to come and say sorry. I wanted her to hug me and tell me she’d never do something that dangerous again.
I went two days hoping she’d come by and when she didn’t, I started to worry. Was she okay? Did she feel so badly about what she did that she couldn’t face me? So I called her. I texted her.
She ignored me.
She sent my calls straight to voicemail and my texts were left on read.
Maybe one missed call would’ve been normal, but I called more than once.
I went to her house but only Mallory answered.
“Emma can’t talk right now,” she’d said.
After a week, rage started to build inside me. How could Emma treat me like this? She was the one who hurt me. I was the one who should be ignoring her, not the other way around.
When I finally spotted her walking outside on the way to school one morning, I ran out to her. My hands shook from the anger I’d built up over the last few days as I closed in on her.
She held the straps of her backpack, zigzagging along the sidewalk.
“Emma!” I shouted, desperate for her to acknowledge me. I needed her to stop ignoring me.
She stopped but didn’t face me. She stood still as the breeze blew her hair away from her face.
I sped up to catch her, running in front of her. I grabbed her shoulders, trying to look her in the eyes, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Talk to me. Please.”
She took a breath, a pause that felt like a lifetime. “Why?”
Why? She couldn’t be serious. She knew exactly why. She’d killed my dog and refused to talk to me about it. But that wasn’t all. She was my best friend. She knew everything about me, from my favorite flavor of ice cream to my fear of spiders. She knew things that I had never told another soul.
She knew how badly she’d hurt me.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” I asked, convinced there was no way Emma could be so cruel. There had to be a reason why she wasn’t talking to me. Maybe she was embarrassed, or scared that I’d be mad.
Whatever the reason, I needed to hear it. I didn’t want to be upset with her. I wanted to be able to forgive her.
“I was busy,” she said.
“No, you weren’t.” I wasn’t ignorant. I knew she could’ve come over if she wanted to.
Growing up, any time I’d gotten hurt, she was there in an instant.
She’d dote on me like I was her personal doll.
Even if I only had a cold, she’d sneak over just so she could put a cool washcloth on my head and hold my hand.
If she ever saw me cry, she’d wipe my tears away. Then she’d switch into her overly goofy, animated self, teasing me until I broke into a smile.
That’s who she was.
So I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t there for me this time. Where was her tight hug when I needed it most? Where was she when I cried into my pillow or when I threw my comforter away because it smelled like Duke?
I needed her to hold my hand.
“Why does it matter?”
I swear I had the wind kicked out of me. What had gotten into her? She’d never talked like this before.
Couldn’t she see how puffy my eyes were? Why wasn’t she reaching out to comfort me?
I knew she’d been more distant that year, but we’d spent our childhood with our lives so intertwined I believed we’d always be together in some shape or form. I thought we were close enough to overcome any misunderstanding. That had to be what this was. Maybe she was in shock, like me.
“Duke is dead,” I said.
That’s when she looked up at me. Her stare was direct and cold, nothing like the Emma I knew.
“He was just a dog.”
My hands went cold. At first I thought I heard her wrong because there was no way she’d say something that insensitive. “What?”
She shrugged. “Just get another one.”
I wanted to scream and throw up at the same time. The audacity she had to suggest that Duke was replaceable.
She was supposed to be apologetic, but she might as well have slapped me across the face. That couldn’t possibly be how she felt.
“Why would you say that?” Even after everything she said, I was still searching for a reason to forgive her. A reason to forget all of the awful things she’d just said.
“I need to go or I’m going to be late,” she said, pushing past me.
She walked a few steps as I processed the shock of her brushing me off. Then with my hands in fists, I pounded my foot into the ground. “Stop it. This isn’t like you.”
She kept walking and with every step she took I felt half of my heart being ripped away from me. She tugged one half with her, tearing it in two. But it was worse than that. She might as well have stomped on it, beat it up, and left it mangled somewhere I wasn’t going to be able to find it.
“I’m not done talking to you!” I yelled, pleading for her to turn around.
All I needed was an ounce, a crumb of remorse, and I’d forgive her. A small signal that the girl I cared about was still there.
But she kept walking.
She walked right out of my life.